


The Gifts We Give

by 221bdragonslayer



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-19 02:20:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17592797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221bdragonslayer/pseuds/221bdragonslayer
Summary: Jemma and Fitz are celebrating their first Christmas in their dream home, but they aren't the only ones who will find a home in their cottage for the holidays. And Jemma has a special present for Fitz...





	The Gifts We Give

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the Fitzsimmons Secret Santa exchange on Tumblr, for @antoine-triplett! I had a lot of fun filling your prompt, and I apologize again that it's so late thanks to a whole host of stupid problems.

Jemma Fitzsimmons hummed softly and slightly off-tune as she filled the tea kettle with water and set on the stovetop to heat. Hopefully, a few sips of her favorite fragrant herbal tea would settle her stomach; when Fitz came in, his body warm from scrabbling up and now ladders all morning but his fingers and face pink with chill, she knew that he would appreciate a nice cup of tea, too.

Even though their cottage was in the middle of the Scottish countryside, Fitz had insisted on engineering a lavish display of Christmas lights and decorations outside. There were very few passersby at this time of year on snowy country roads, so he was either so excited about finally having their dream _home_ to decorate for the first time that he didn’t care, or he was showing off for Daisy.

Daisy still called them occasionally over video chat, and she had done so on what was apparently the Americans’ Thanksgiving night, trailing her fork through the remaining sandy crumbs of store-bought pie on her plate.

“Any plans for Christmas?” Jemma had asked.

“None. Zilch. Nada,” Daisy said. “Mack’s got plans with his brother for Christmas, and Yo-yo’s going with him. With you guys gone…the base will be quiet, so I guess it’ll be microwave mashed potatoes and sappy Christmas movies in my PJs for me.”

She tried to sound cheerful, but not even the poor quality of her webcam couldn’t hide that her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

What else could Jemma do but offer, “Why don’t you buy a plane ticket and come visit us for Christmas?”

Over the years, their holidays had become a comfortable mishmash of traditions: the mince pies and Christmas crackers that reminded them of their childhoods and the more American ones adopted in Shield Academy dorms with fellow students and with the Team on the Bus. Despite any teasing they received from either side for their nontraditional Christmas, Jemma loved it. Each of their traditions held special memories of people and places she loved, of times that she had treasured.

Jemma’s list of tasks to complete before Daisy’s arrival still sat on the dresser beside her, and she noted with satisfaction that each item was crossed out: Small gifts and trinkets purchased for her friend? Check. Aforementioned trinkets and small gifts neatly wrapped, labeled, and placed under the tree? Check. Homemade biscuits slathered in saccharine sweet icing to cover their slightly burnt edges, sitting on a festive holiday tray? Check.

All she had to do, then, was sit and relax. Jemma was relieved for a chance to put her feet up; as long as she was counting her blessings, she was also grateful that the lights had kept Fitz occupied and intent on top of the ladder. He had been too high up to see how green she had turned before dropping the lights she was untangling and dashing inside, shouting the excuse that she was cold. In her opinion, it was entirely unfair—not to mention false advertising—that _morning_ sickness was not limited to the _morning_.

Jemma’s hand slid down to her stomach, a soft smile instinctively crossing her lips. About the size of a sweet pea, their child would be now: hers and Fitz’s.

Her eyes drifted over to the pile of packages, already sliding out of the neat stacks she had made that morning; she had gotten Fitz several gifts, but the one she was most eager to give him was buried deep underneath the tree, unobtrusive and innocently plain. Jemma smiled again as she thought of the good news concealed by that cardboard box and wrapping paper: her gift to Fitz, yes, but also his to her, a life that had come out of his and hers and the intertwining of them both, out of tears and smiles and separations and reunions. She wasn’t sure who their child would be— their daughter in the future but with a happier end, some version of her, someone completely different? — but for once, Jemma didn’t care to hypothesize. She was curious, yes, but this was _their_ child. And that was good enough for her. The rest they would figure out together—as she and Fitz always had.

Her nausea had settled down now, and Jemma planned to go back outside to finish helping Fitz. But she was comfortable and warm, breathing in the lavender-scented steam that drifted up from her tea and the anticipation of how Fitz’s eyes would widen when he opened her gift. Her eyelids were so heavy. It wouldn’t hurt to close them for just a moment…

 She woke up to find Fitz standing in front of her. The tips of his ears and his cheeks were rosy red; a few snowflakes that had fallen down off the roof in all his rattling were slowly dissolving on his hair.

“Are you all right, Jem?” he asked, his forehead scrunching up in a frown. “You’ve looked a bit peaked today.”

Fitz knew that she never, ever napped during the day, so she hurried to reassure him. 

“I’m fine,” she said, rising and pecking a quick kiss on his lips. “A nap was just what I needed, and I’m feeling good as new. Now let’s see your lights, hmm? You said you made some modifications to the bulbs this year?”

His crystal blue eyes brightened, and Jemma almost felt guilty at how well the distraction had worked.

“Yes, they should be much more efficient to run,” Fitz said. As he talked, he slipped her coat off its hanger and slipped it around her shoulders. She followed him outside: it was barely evening, but already the dusk of a winter’s night was falling over the snow-powdered yard and house.

Slightly damp wool suddenly eclipsed her vision.

“Ugh, Fitz,” she said, amused, “I can’t see.”

“That’s the objective,” he replied, equally amused, grabbing at her hand when she tugged at his gloved fingers and squeezing it. “No peeking!”

“I’d better not fall,” she said with a laugh as he slipped his arm through hers, guiding her across the yard.

“You won’t,” and she felt a kiss as light as a snowflake land on the top of her head.

Finally, he grasped her shoulders and turned her around, letting his hand drop. Jemma sucked in a deep breath of awe and released it contentedly as she watched the strings of lights glow and dance, lighting up their yard. “Oh, Fitz.”

“You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” she reassured him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss on his lips before drawing back. “Oh! Your mouth is cold.”

His gloved hand gently cupped the back of her head, drawing her back and then moving to tangle in her hair. “Mmm,” he mumbled, crystal blue eyes staring into hers before his eyelashes fluttered closed. “Then let’s warm it up, shall we?”

“There’s tea inside that should do the trick,” Jemma said demurely, and was rewarded by a small, warm puff of his breath on her cheeks as he snorted.

They were interrupted by the crunch of tires over snow and concrete as Daisy’s car pulled into their driveway. Fitz grumbled good-naturedly into the kiss.

“Sorry to interrupt!” Daisy said cheerfully, hopping out of the car. “I forgot the mistletoe, but it looks like you two are doing fine without it.”

As she strode forward, Jemma caught her in a warm hug. “It is _so_ good to see you,” she said sincerely, and it was. There no world to save: just Christmas movies to watch, presents to open, and iced biscuits to eat. And, she thought whole-heartedly, that was definitely an improvement.

“Wow, you really decked the halls,” Daisy said, pulling far back enough so she could study the cottage over Jemma’s shoulders. “The lights look awesome.”

“Do you have any bags you need help with?” Fitz asked. Both he and Jemma stepped forward, but Daisy hastily moved between them and her car.

She shifted uncertainly, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet and exhaling a white puff of breath into the chilly air. “Uh, so I have a question for you two.”

“Ask away,” Fitz said, his face bathed in the red and green of the lights as he tilted his head to exchange a questioning glance with Jemma.

“What would you guys think about having a child for Christmas?”

Jemma froze, thoughts and questions tumbling over each other in her mind. _How could she know—_

It was then that she saw the small, dark silhouette of a face in the window of Daisy’s car.

“We took her father into custody two weeks ago,” Daisy explained. “Shield sent us after him for doing a laundry list of crap with stolen alien tech. But they didn’t warn us about…” her voice trailed off as she glanced back toward their car. “Leslie.”

“Daisy—” Fitz began.

 “I know, I know. I’ve been trying to get her placed in the foster system, but it’s hard around the holidays. There was always the orphanage…but I remember them.” She sighed. “Holidays. At the orphanage.”

Jemma read the loneliness of those days past in her eyes and heard the pleading in her tone. She exchanged a glance with Fitz.

_How can we say no?_

“Well, bring her in,” Fitz said with a resigned sigh, gesturing to the little girl who had hopped out of Daisy’s car and was waiting by the boot with the straps of her purple backpack gripped in her mittened hands. “She’s going to freeze out here.”

Fitz helped Daisy and Leslie haul their luggage inside while Jemma grabbed extra linens and blankets to prepare for an extra guest. Once Leslie was settled down with games and holiday cartoons on one of Fitz’s spare tablets, they took Daisy on a tour of the cottage.

They concluded in the hall, and Jemma surveyed it proudly. It was one of her favorite places in the house; the walls were painted a creamy tan and covered in framed photographs that provided a timeline of her and Fitz’s lives together, from the two students in the cardigans with the Shield Academy logo (Jemma bright-eyed and perky with color-coded schedules in her hands and a grumpy Fitz with his curls still mussed from his pillow and downing the rare _good_ American tea she had probably bribed him awake with) on up to the days when they fixed up their dream home (Jemma with a dot of paint on her nose and Fitz’s curls dusted with wood-shavings). Her eyes settled somewhere in the middle—on the selfie from Peru— and she still couldn’t help but wonder at the two fresh-faced young scientists that stared back at her. So excited and nervous at the same time, but not enough of either for the adventures that were ahead of them.

And the same would probably hold true for their next adventure. A small spark of excitement flared into a flame in Jemma’s chest, her hand instinctively moving to rest over her stomach.

“Hey, she looks familiar,” Daisy said, reaching up to trace one of the rich brown wooden frames housing a picture of her with her arms slung around Fitz and Jemma. She smiled, her voice a touch softer.  “You guys put me on the wall?”

“Of course we did,” Jemma said warmly. “Now, what do you say we have some dinner?”

With their extra young guest, Jemma decided they needed a better plan to keep them busy the next day and formulated a list on her laptop after the meal. Christmas movies were always a good bet, but her mum had always had sweets and hands-on projects for Jemma and her sisters at Christmas, hadn’t she? Making candy would do nicely to cover that base, and she put together a list of ingredients to send with Fitz when he went shopping that evening to get Leslie a gift from Father Christmas.

“Sure you don’t want to come with me?” Fitz asked, tugging a hat over his curls and tapping his phone screen to save the list she sent him. He bent to brush a quick kiss across her lips.

“Positive,” Jemma assured him. “Daisy and I will put Leslie to bed, then she and I want to do some catching up.”

Even with periodic interruptions to answer Fitz’s texts asking for her and Daisy’s opinions about which toy would make a good gift for Leslie, it didn’t take long to get her settled down in the guest bedroom where the noise from any conversation wouldn’t bother her. Tired from the long day of travel, she was fast asleep in no time.

 “What should we watch?” Jemma asked Daisy, who was sprawled across the sofa.

“Something fun and sappy.” Daisy grabbed the remote off the side table and tossed it to her. “But nothing with any doctoring, okay? I learned my lesson from all those days on the Bus when you would pick the science apart.”

“Well, they were begging for it! If they didn’t want people pointing out the inaccuracies, they shouldn’t have them so glaringly… _obvious_.”

Daisy smirked, but she just shook her head fondly. “Hey, got any popcorn we can put it in the microwave?”

“Sure. Only we’ll have to use the popper. My dad insists microwave popcorn is an atrocity, and he made sure that we got a popper as a wedding gift.”

Daisy laughed as she followed her out to the kitchen, hopping up on the counter. The small window at her back looked out into the yard, and Daisy turned and brushed back the curtain. The flower and vegetable plots outside, patiently sleeping and waiting for the spring when Jemma would fill them with the experimental hybrids she had spent hours choosing, lay under a powdering of snow that glistened under the frosty stars like sanding sugar.

“It’s so peaceful,” Daisy said, resting her forehead against the window frame. “And I really love what you guys have done with this place. It’s amazing.”

 Jemma poured a cup of golden kernels into the popper.  “Thanks,” she said, switching on the machine and settling down in one of her kitchen chairs across from her friend.  “Eventually, we’re going to build a small lab out back. Fitz drew up plans and surprised me with them for my birthday. We knew we wouldn’t have enough time to start construction on it before the winter, what with all we had to do to finish the cottage before the cold set in, but we should be ready to start by spring. We’ve been busy ordering the materials and looking at lab equipment, it’s so exciting!”

“After everything you’ve been through together, well…I’m glad you and Fitz have this. It’s perfect for you, and you both deserve it, you really do. I’m happy for you, Jem.”

“And have you found a special someone?” Jemma asked.

Daisy smiled and shrugged. “Not at the moment. With everything that’s gone on in the past couple years…there’s so much I have to figure out. I don’t think I feel broken…not anymore…but I’m still getting comfortable with the way the pieces of me came back together.”

Jemma nodded. She and Fitz had walked that long path and still were.

“If you had to choose all over again,” she asked softly, “…would you?”

“If I could go back and change my answer the day that Coulson asked me to join Shield? Definitely not! I know better than to mess with time travel by now,” Daisy said with a laugh.

“I agree. Whole-heartedly.”

“But do I regret choosing Shield?” Daisy exhaled, staring down at her finger and tracing a pattern with a smudge of flour that Jemma had missed after her biscuit-baking spree. “I’ve lost so much since joining Shield, but…I’ve found so much, too. I found you guys; I found a _family_. We’ve had our ups and downs, and maybe I wish I could change some of those, but any family has them. So, I guess not.” Daisy glanced up from her hands and met Jemma’s eyes. “No, I don’t,” she said.

It was a question Jemma had asked herself many times over the years, and she could firmly say that she agreed with Daisy. It had been a long journey filled with tears and twists for her and Fitz, but here they were. And through it all, they had forged a bond that neither space nor time could destroy. They’d stared down the end together many times, but now, together, they were facing a beginning.

_Here’s to new beginnings, little one,_ Jemma’s heart whispered to the smaller one beating inside her.

The popper erupted with a flurry of kernels and pops. While Daisy dished up the popcorn, Jemma felt a sudden urge for something sweet. She grabbed a spoon and dug in the freezer for a carton of ice cream, but the jar she spotted in the open refrigerator where Daisy was grabbing drinks was suddenly singing a siren song to her taste buds.

“It’s a little cold for ice cream—not that I’m going to judge. But pickles?” Daisy said with a laugh. “And man, you’ve got the weirdest variety of foods in here. I’d almost think you were pregnant.”

“You would almost think that, wouldn’t you?” Jemma said serenely.

* * *

 

As usual, Jemma woke before Fitz the next day. It was a beautiful morning, the sunshine beaming outside the kitchen windows especially crisp and clean in the chilly winter air. The only sound she could hear was the tea kettle softly hissing and breathing out puffs of warm steam.

She’d always enjoyed the promise of a fresh day, of mornings.

Unfortunately, she thought, making a dash for the bathroom as she was overcome by the tightening in her stomach and a sudden wave of nausea, at the moment they weren’t quite so enjoyable.

“Jemma?” Daisy’s voice came groggily from behind her, then grew a bit sharper and clearer with concern as she spotted her. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

 “No, you’re not.” Daisy appeared on the corner of her vision, still in her pajamas, her hair in a frizzy mass around her face, and her eyes suspicious. “You’re as white as a ghost. And Fitz told me last night that you’ve seemed more tired than usual.”

“I promise you, I’m okay.” Jemma recognized that didn’t have much authority when it came from her while she was curled over the toilet, but there wasn’t much she could do to remedy that at the moment.

“Of all the days for you to come down with something, Christmas Eve’s definitely a bummer,” Daisy said, her voice filled with sympathy.

“I haven’t come down with something.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite.”

Daisy huffed impatiently. Jemma heard the tap running above her, then her friend was kneeling beside her, holding out a small paper cup of water. Jemma accepted it and took a small, cautious sip to test her stomach. It didn’t seem to rebel again, so she released her grip on the toilet and sat back on the bathroom floor tiles, resting her back against the wall.

“I don’t believe you, you know,” Daisy added, almost conversationally, as she plopped down and sat cross-legged beside her.

She was not without a good reason. Even back at the Academy, Fitz would scold her for her tendencies to shrug off every sniffle, fever, and ache in order to be in class or study; on the Bus, where Jemma’s work was a matter of life or death, it had seemed even more important to be at the lab instead of in bed.

“Just don’t tell Fitz. Please.”

Immediately her friend perked up, her eyes narrowing. “Why?”

“Remember what you said last night?”

“I said a lot of things last night, Jem, so you might have to be a bit more specific.”

“When I was craving pickles and ice cream. You said that you’d almost think I was—”

Daisy’s eyes widened, her mouth dropping. “Oh my gosh,” she breathed. “You…you _are_.”

For a long moment, they stared at each other.

 Then, the next thing Jemma knew, she was wrapped in a warm hug. “I can’t believe it! This is…this is amazing, Jem!”

With Daisy’s excitement, all her own to share the news welled back. She returned the hug fiercely and laughed. “You do know this means you’ll have to visit again when the baby is born, Aunt Daisy?” she asked warmly.

“Duh!” Daisy laughed. “You couldn’t keep me away for the world.” She drew back to study Jemma’s face. “Does Fitz know?”

“No. I’m coming to tell him with his gift on Christmas morning.”

“You guys are as cute as ever,” Daisy said fondly. “Well, I promise my lips are zipped. Anything I can do to help out?”

 Savory smells early in the morning had been turning her stomach as of late, so Jemma nodded gratefully. “Perhaps you could get some breakfast ready for you, Fitz, and Leslie? There is bread for toast, jam, bacon, and eggs in the fridge. If Fitz asks, I’m wrapping the gifts he got for Leslie last night.”

Daisy nodded. “No problem.”

While the others had breakfast, Jemma armed herself with scissors and a roll of tape to make her excuse the truth. She opened the shopping bag waiting on her dresser and smiled when she found a bright pink, fuzzy plush monkey peeking out. _How very Fitz_.

 The stuffed animal and the Playmobil set that Fitz had also bought were neatly wrapped and added to the pile under the tree by the time the plates and kitchen were washed from breakfast, and Jemma was ready to oversee the day’s events.

“All right. First up on the list: candy making.” Jemma loved the exactness of making candy: measuring out an exact portion of sugar and heating it to exactly the right temperature, considering the effects of the environment and the reactions of sugar crystals with heat and other ingredients. The fact that it could bubble over the pot and all over her stove or turn into a hard, charred lump not unlike charcoal if her timing was not just right— oddly enough— added a need for precision and a sense of risk not unlike what had once motivated her in the lab. “Have you ever done a science experiment?” she asked Leslie, pouring some sugar into the pot. “Making candy is like that.”

 “Except better. You can eat the results,” Fitz added. His fingers snuck around her arm to dip into the sugar; on her other side, Daisy’s hand was doing the same. Without glancing up from the recipe, Jemma lightly swatted both simultaneously. “See, Leslie, cold winter days are perfect for making candy because—"

“—sugar is hygroscopic,” Fitz supplied.

“Fascinating,” Daisy said, rolling her eyes.

“No, it is!” Fitz exclaimed as Jemma protested simultaneously, “It really is important!”

“A proper understanding of the properties of sugar crystals—”

“and temperature—”

“Not to mention environment—”

“Is necessary to make a good batch of candy,” Jemma finished.

Even though Jemma had been fast, Fitz had still managed to collect a few sugar crystals on his fingertip, and he licked it as he explained. “What hygroscopic means is that if it’s too hot or humid out, the sugar—and the candy— will absorb the moisture from the air.”

“If you say so,” Daisy said with a grin. “You guys are the nerds, after all. I’m just the taste tester.”

By the end of the day, with the exception of one burned batch of sugar that filled the kitchen with toxic-smelling clouds of smoke and sent Fitz sliding across the kitchen tiles in his socks and his haste to open a window, operation candy-making was a success.

“Well, I suppose we’d better get some supper,” Jemma said.

“I thought this was it,” Fitz said, offering Leslie a grin and motioning to the table. Every inch of its surface was covered by crystal bowls, the clear glass showing off a rainbow of stained-glass candies dusted with powdered sugar, buttery golden fingers of toffee, and truffles rolled in festive red and green sprinkles.

_Nice try,_ Jemma’s crossed arms and deliberate, angelically patient smile said. “Some sandwiches and soup won’t take long,” she replied, stealing just one more proud look at the efforts of their labors before turning toward the kitchen. “That should help balance the sugar rush.”

Daisy, Fitz, and Leslie all followed her back to the kitchen to help. Within no time, they were carrying a small feast out to the living room.

“We can eat in front of the tv?” Leslie breathed.

“We only have two more days to watch Christmas movies,” Jemma told her with a smile. “Might as well take advantage of as much time as we have.”

To watch the movies in style, they raided every room in the house for pillows and blankets and built a fort on the floor.

“What do you think?” Leslie asked Fitz from where she and Daisy lay inside the fort.

“It’s good,” Fitz said, settling down on the sofa. Jemma curled into his side. “The most structurally sound pillow fort I’ve ever seen.”

Leslie beamed.

Halfway through Leslie’s introduction to _The Snowman_ , the structurally sound pillow fort collapsed. Fortunately, as his usual medium was not pillows, Leslie did not seem inclined to blame Fitz’s engineering and found being buried in blankets even cozier than a fort.

One movie later, she was snoring softly.

Daisy carefully extracted her from the nest of bedding and carried her to bed.

* * *

 

That night, a thud startled Jemma awake. It was followed by the sound of the guest bedroom door creaking open.

“Did you hear that?” Fitz’s voice whispered near her ear.

“Yes,” Jemma whispered back. “Leslie must have tripped on something in her room. I hope she’s okay. Wonder why she’s up.”

She pushed back the blankets and slid out of bed, tiptoeing to the doorway. As she poked her head out, she heard soft footsteps behind her and felt the warmth of Fitz’s breath on her neck.

Small sniffles were coming from behind the tree, and she could just barely see the fleece of Leslie’s pajamas through the lowest branches. Her bare toes sat curled on top of the heater vent. Daisy was nowhere to be seen; the thump must not have disturbed her. It was up to Jemma to take care of the situation, then.

“Maybe she’s lonely,” Fitz whispered.

_What should I do?_ The holidays of Jemma’s childhood had always meant love and spending time with family. She had no experiences to draw on. How could she know what to say to a little girl whose mother and father were gone when her own parents had always been there for her?

It was then that she felt the flannel of Fitz’s pajamas brush against her arm; to her surprise, she realized that he was walking over to Leslie.

He sat down next to her, pressing his knees against his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Sitting like that—combined with the effect of tousled hair and sleepy eyes—made him look smaller, younger. Like he had when they had pulled all-nighters studying at the Academy.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

They both sat in silence, in which Leslie swiped her nose on her sleeve and made a few attempts to sniff back her tears.

“Do you miss your parents?” Fitz finally asked quietly.

“Yeah. No. I don’t know.” She shrugged her small shoulders. “Mommy, yes. That’s easy. But Daddy doesn’t miss me. After Mommy died, he was always angry at me.”

“Sometimes, when people are sad, they say things they don’t mean.”

“But what if he did mean it?”

“Then,” Fitz said, his voice certain but gentle, “he was wrong. That wasn’t your fault, Leslie.”

She nodded, but she sniffed again.

“It’s confusing, isn’t it?” Fitz asked. His head tipped back to rest against the wall, and Jemma’s heart ached at the weariness in that movement. “My dad was never there for Christmas, either. He was never kind to me when he lived at home, but it still hurt to see other children with their fathers on holidays. I didn’t miss _him_. I thought I did, but what I missed was a _father_.”

“It wasn’t your fault, either,” she said softly, staring up at him.

The corners of Fitz’s lips twitched upwards, but Jemma saw the look in his eyes and could guess at the memories behind it. “It isn’t easy, is it?”

Leslie shook her head. She hesitated for a moment, then she rested her head on Fitz’s shoulder.

He glanced down at her in surprise. Then a quiet, genuine smile crossed his face, and he put his arm around her shoulders.

Jemma’s heart caught in her throat because a single, silent moment at two o’ clock on Christmas morning could be so full.

 “What do you say I let you have a present early?” he asked softly. “And then it’s back to bed.”

Fitz reached for the parcel under the tree that held the stuffed monkey and handed it to Leslie when she nodded eagerly. She quickly tore off the wrapping paper,  and Jemma heard a quiet gasp.

“Thank you, Mr. Fitz!”                                                                                   

“A little somebody to keep you company.” He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Happy Christmas, Leslie.”

The sound of Fitz’s soft footsteps and Leslie’s even softer ones came down the hall and went back into the guest bedroom. The girl climbed into bed, a sliver of light from the hall resting against the covers. Her body curled into a fetal position, arms wrapping tight around the stuffed monkey and cheek resting on its hot pink fur.

Fitz bent over to gently pull the blankets over her. Jemma’s heart flip-flopped in her chest as she settled back down in her own bed: what a father he would be, her Fitz.

The bed creaked as Fitz climbed back in beside her. Sheets rustled as he shifted and snuggled back down under the blankets, a quiet sigh escaping from his lips once he was comfortable.

Jemma rolled over, finding his mouth, warm and soft in the dark. Fitz’s closed eyes didn’t open, but the lips underneath hers quirked up slightly.

“Mmm,” he said as she broke off the kiss to lazily snuggle into him, nestling her head in the cozy curve of his neck. “What was that for?”

“Did you know that I love you?”

“No,” he mumbled, already half-asleep. As if it were a reflex, his arm tucked itself around her, his head shifting so that his temples rested against the top of her hair. “Never guessed.”

* * *

 

The first hints of sunshine peeped through the curtains and brought Jemma slowly drifting out of her dreams. As usual, Fitz had nestled in close as close against her in his sleep, and she could feel the soft, steady rhythm of his heartbeat in the chest that rose and fell with the peaceful breaths of sleep against her body. Warm and drowsy, she was content just to lay there and listen.

Finally, she slipped out of bed. As usual, she was careful not to jostle Fitz, but as usual, he continued to sleep like a log and snored quietly on.

She put some water on for tea and went to dress. Her stomach was calm this morning: whether this meant the morning sickness stage was approaching its end or if it was simply a Christmas miracle, it made her spirits rise even higher. As she was brushing her chestnut strands back into a ponytail, she saw a petite shadow clutching a pink neon stuffed monkey that practically glowed in the dark of the hallway over her shoulder in the mirror.

 “Morning, Leslie,” she said, securing her hair with a band and turning to smile at the little girl. “And happy Christmas. Do you like tea?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then maybe you’d better sit down and have a cup so you can find out, hmm?” Leslie followed her to the kitchen, and Jemma rummaged in her cupboard until she found the tea cup that Fitz had used every morning before school as a boy, given to her by his mother at their wedding day. It had a larger handle to accommodate a child’s grip and was made sturdily enough to withstand being dropped. It hadn’t been used in years, but it made Jemma smile to think of a small, curly-headed and sleepy-eyed Fitz sitting at a breakfast table while his mum lovingly cooled tea and prepared cinnamon toast for him.

Leslie scrunched up her nose after her first taste, but she sipped it contentedly after Jemma added a shot of milk and several spoonfuls of sugar. By the time when all that was left in her cup was the sugar that hadn’t dissolved and had fallen into small drifts at the bottom of her cup, she was casting eager glances over her shoulder as if she could discern what was inside the packages if she simply stared at them hard enough.

“I think we’ve waited long enough,” Jemma said finally with a smile. “What do you say I take one sleepyhead, and you take the other?”

“Okay!” Leslie exclaimed, sliding off the stool and pattering back to the guest bedroom. A loud groan and a smattering of words that were not entirely coherent but included something about it being the “middle of the night” drifted back to Jemma.  She smirked and headed back to her bedroom, crawling over their bed. Fitz was curled up with his face tucked in a fold of blanket, and Jemma peeled it back.

“Rise and shine, Fitz.”

She traced her fingers along his jaw, then allowed them to continue on, running lightly down his neck. A slight shiver traveled through his skin.

A moment later, two warm, languid arms were wrapped around her waist, gently tipping her over onto the blankets. “Mmm,” Fitz mumbled sleepily as he nestled his face against her neck. “Ten more minutes.”

She sighed and pried him away, propping herself back up against the pillows, and his head shifted onto her lap. Jemma ran her fingers through his hair. “Remember what day it is, sleepyhead?” she prompted.

His eyes didn’t open. “Mm-hmm,” he murmured. “Tuesday.”

For a long minute, Jemma narrowed her eyes and stared at him. He didn’t move and seemed to have fallen asleep again, his chest rising and falling with soft, even snores.

Just when she was about to concede his innocence, a slight smirk creased his cheeks.

Fitz yelped and sprang up as Jemma whacked him over the head with a pillow. “What was that for, wife?” he yelped.

“For your insolence, husband,” she said loftily, although she couldn’t help the smile that twitched on the corners of her mouth. “I expect an apology immediately.”

His lips closed over hers, playful and warm and dawdling with the last hints of sleepy laziness. “How’s that?”

“Mmm. Not enough, I’m afraid.” She slipped her hand under the back of his neck and drew his head back, prolonging the kiss. “There. I think that will do.”

“Happy Christmas, Mrs. Fitz-Simmons.”

“The same to you, Mr. Fitz-Simmons.”

By the time Fitz was up and dressed, Daisy was, too, sitting on the sofa and yawning into a cup of coffee she had procured for herself. Leslie, bright-eyed and swinging her legs, sat beside her. With a twinkle in her eye, Jemma mouthed a _good job_ to the younger and a _sorry_ to the older.

“Ready to see what Father Christmas brought?” she asked brightly. Leslie nodded happily and popped off the sofa to kneel by the tree.

Like most children, it seemed she fortunately was not immune to the charm of miniatures. She opened the Playmobil Arctic Exploration Headquarters set Fitz had picked out immediately and found it was complete with three explorers with teeny tools, a ski-sled, and bitty screens. Soon, both Fitz and Jemma were seated beside her on the rug, heads bowed low over the scattered pieces on the rug as they helped her sort them. “See, here’s the satellite communication pole…” “These screens, Leslie, are to collect data, including the ice temperature.”

Daisy helped by naming the explorers.

“Here, this is for you, _Quake_ ,” Fitz said, emphasizing her alter ego as he stretched to grab Daisy’s present from under the tree.

“Very funny, you guys,” she said once she had unwrapped the sweatshirt emblazoned with the words, “It’s not my fault” and a diagram of the ground’s surface, but she grinned and tugged it on before tossing a piece of balled-up wrapping paper at his head.

They unwrapped their gift from her, a Tardis teapot, and then there were only two gifts left under the tree.

“Yours first, or mine?” Fitz asked.

“Yours,” Jemma said with a smile, but underneath the calmness of her reply, her heart had skipped a beat. She had waited for so long to tell him, but suddenly it felt like too long to wait just one present more. Her fingers shook a little as she pulled the paper off his gift.

She opened the small box and pulled out a silver, glimmering chain. On it hung a heart-shaped locket, engraved with symbols. Jemma traced them with her finger, knowing what each one stood for: space, time, and distance.

“Because none of it could keep us apart,” Fitz murmured.

She opened the locket and saw a picture of him, her Fitz. It brought back memories of the days when all she’d had to cling to of him was a picture: on Maveth, while he was lost in space. And now she got to fall asleep and wake up to the sound of his heartbeat, scribble suggestions alongside his scrawled formulas on their schematics, rest her head on his shoulder while watching movies, and so, so many more tiny things that once she might have taken for granted.

He’d said once that they were cursed, but she knew now that he couldn’t be more wrong. They were lucky.

“Cheesy, I know,” Fitz said, shrugging nonchalantly, but the emotion in the depths of his eyes was anything but nonchalant.

“No, Fitz,” she whispered. “Perfect.” She glanced up, smiled at him, and cleared her throat. “Actually, I know just what picture I would like to put on the other side.”

The last present waited under the tree, and Jemma reached for it. With bated breath, excitement and nervousness competing, she shoved it into Fitz’s hands.

Daisy had perked up and was watching intently, eagerly, but Jemma barely noticed. The whole world narrowed down to her husband’s hands (oh, how she loved those clever, capable, beautiful fingers of Fitz’s!) as they tore off the wrapping paper.

Jemma, watching closely, saw each emotion unfold in seconds that drew themselves out as if filmed in slow motion as Fitz pulled out the framed black and white image. His eyebrows quirked and his forehead furrowed in amusement and confusion. Then, realization dawned, and shock flashed across his face.  “Jemma,” he said, hesitant hope in his breathlessness and in his crystal blue eyes as he raised them to her.

And then he ran out of words, and Jemma didn’t trust her voice to fill the space. But then again, when had they needed words?

_Is this—_ his eyes asked.

She cupped his cheeks in her hands, smoothing her fingers over them.

_Yes._

 “I’m going to be a…”

“A father,” Jemma finished with a soft laugh.

“And that’s…”

His hand had come up to cover hers. She gently drew it down and placed it on her stomach. “Our child,” she said softly, her eyes gleaming brightly.

He exhaled a small laugh and pulled her smile against his, the kiss joyful and exuberant. Her lips melted into his to deepen it, as if she never wanted him to let go.

And come to think of it, she didn’t.

“They’re going to have a baby?” she heard Leslie ask Daisy in a loud, delighted whisper.

Fitz’s arm slid down around Jemma’s waist as they turned to face them, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her hair before he replied. “Yes, Leslie. Yes, we are,” he said, his voice full of pride and love as he smiled down at Jemma.

Although nothing could compare to that moment, Jemma savored every other one that followed.

Pretending not to see Fitz stealing candy before dinner and sneaking some of his spoils to Leslie. Hearing Daisy and Leslie’s breathless laughter as they bopped to Christmas music in the living room while she and Fitz watched the food in the kitchen. Feeling Fitz’s arms wrap around her waist while she stirred, drawing her into his arms and swaying back and forth with her when the strains of a softer, slower song drifted in. Noticing the moisture shining in Fitz’s eyes when they hung up the ultrasound on their wall of pictures, a new chapter in the chronicle of their story. Calling her parents and then Fitz’s mother to give them the good news, hearing the excited whoops and happy sobs. Enjoying their Christmas meal, introducing Leslie and Daisy to the traditional British foods of their childhoods (although they had favorites from the States for their guests, too). Helping Leslie open her Christmas cracker, smiling at her delight, and agreeing whole-heartedly when she said, “It’s dumb that Americans don’t have these.”

And finally, when Leslie hugged them both before bed and whispered, “Thank you for my Christmas.”

Followed by Daisy passing by on her way to tuck Leslie in and her whisper of “Mine, too.”

 

 


End file.
